As we moved to take our places at the far end of the table, however, Dinoot noticed the man with me was not a priest. "Bishop Cadoc," he said, putting out a hand to halt the barbarian, "forgive my curiosity, but it seems to me that a stranger has come among us."
"Ah, yes," the bishop said, remembering the warrior suddenly, and with some embarrassment. "Your eye is sharp, Master Dinoot."
"Not so sharp as some," the head man allowed, the selfsame eye narrowing slightly. "Still, I know a Sea Wolf when I see one."
"We lost our rudder to the storm," Brynach explained, "and were coming on to land-"
"Would have made a fine landfall, too," said Fintan, speaking up, "if not for a most cowardly attack." The pilot told about the Sea Wolves and shook his head with utmost regret. "Little Ban Gwydd is tied with ropes down on the strand."
Dinoot frowned. "The storm we knew. But I was not aware there were barbarians coursing our shores." He rubbed his whiskered chin. "Lord Marius will want to know of this."
"Your lord," asked Brynach, "he is not here?"
"His caer is but a half-day's walk," explained Dinoot. "There are five villages under his protection." Turning to the barbarian, who stood mute and resigned beside me, the chieftain asked, "What is to be done with that one?"
"We thought to leave the matter with you," Bishop Cadoc suggested. "We ourselves are strangers here, and are persuaded that your lord would know best what to do."
"Then I will send someone to inform him at once." So saying, the chieftain summoned one of the tribe's young men, and, after a brief word, the youth left the hall, taking two others with him. "The machtiern will hear of this regrettable incident by morning." His lip curled cruelly as he regarded the captive. "Trust this turd of a Dane will trouble you no more."
Rising, Dinoot clapped his hands and called for assistance. Four men hurried to him, and he said, "Throw this garbage in the midden pit and keep watch over him until Lord Marius arrives." Two of the men laid hold of the barbarian roughly and began dragging him away.
The Sea Wolf made no sound, nor offered the least resistance, but looked longingly at the table where baskets of bread and jars of ale were being laid. I saw this and my heart moved within me.
"Wait!" I shouted. The word was past my lips before I could prevent it.
The men hesitated. Every eye in the hall turned towards me, and I suddenly found myself very much the object of scrutiny. I stepped quickly to the table, snatched a loaf from the nearest platter and gave it the Sea Wolf. His childlike elation at this simple act was wonderful to behold. He smiled and clutched the bread to him. One of the men holding him reached out to take the food away.
"Please," I said, and stayed his hand.
The man looked to his chieftain. Dinoot nodded. The man shrugged and released the bread. They led the barbarian away and I took my place at table, yearning to shrink into invisibility.
Once the barbarian had been removed, the hall took life once more. The bishop and head man sat together at one end of the table. Dugal, as Cadoc requested, sat at the bishop's right hand; Brynach sat beside him-and all of them talked amiably with one another. It was good to see Dugal finding a little distinction. I had always known him to be a most able and proficient master of his own skills; unfortunately for Dugal, however, they were skills that were so rarely required at the monastery day by day. Thus, he was never offered opportunities to distinguish himself. Until now.
"That was well done," whispered Ciaran, sitting next to me. "I would not have thought of that. I commend you."
Brocmal, two places away, heard this remark, it seemed, and raised his lips in a sneer. Faolan, next to him, saw this and said, "A loaf, brother. That is all. Would you begrudge a hungry man a bit of bread?"
The imperious monk turned cold eyes on Faolan, stared hard at him, and then turned his face away without a word. He reached out and took a loaf of bread from the platter before him, broke it and bit into it.
"Let us give thanks," called Cadoc, rising from his place. He spoke a simple prayer for the food and a blessing on our hosts.
Loaves were passed and ale jars splashed drink into wooden cups and bowls. There was a warm, filling stew of salted beef and barley. The holding owned no spoons, apparently, so we lifted the bowls to our mouths and slurped down the stew, then sopped the gravy with the soft dark bread. We washed it down with great gulps of foaming ale.
Was better food ever put before me? No, there never was any to compare with that simple, nourishing fare. I ate like the starving man I was.
And while we ate, Ciaran told us what he had learned on the way to the village. "Their fathers came from Cerniu. That was long ago, however. The land here is called An Bhriotaini now," he told us between mouthfuls. I said the word silently to myself: Brittany.
